


Petrie, Like the Dish

by itsavolcano



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fake Marriage, SO MUCH FLUFF, So so much fluff, and some vague plot to hold it all up, and they had to pretend to be married to do it, based on the x-files ep arcadia, filled with lots of x-files references, one bed... duh, s1 au, what if the dynamic duo wasn't dumped in the ocean, what if they had to go hide out from hydra, with a dose of pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 04:49:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10154015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsavolcano/pseuds/itsavolcano
Summary: Agents Fitz and Simmons are sent into hiding after the remaining faction of SHIELD uncovers Hydra's plan to abduct their renowned scientists. Fitz will do anything to protect the woman he secretly loves, even if it means pretending to be married while living in a suburban community where people are too friendly and wild animals chew through electrical wiring.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dilkirani](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dilkirani/gifts).



> For dilkirani in honor of her birthday (March 8th).
> 
> It's been nearly a year since you dragged me down into this trash heap with you and I've loved every minute of it! We've literally known each other half of our lives now (hahaha sorry) and what better way to celebrate your birthday than by tossing our OTP into a world from the show that started our friendship!? This fic began as a small little one shot, but, well, we've met. I hope you enjoy it and I love you! <3 <3

“Here, let me get that for you.”

Agent Leo Fitz spun around a fraction too slow at the sound of his new neighbor’s surprising greeting. He'd missed the man’s approach in the ruckus of the other neighbors bustling past as they grabbed boxes and furniture from the moving van in the driveway. 

From the moment the van arrived, the group—led by a tall and severe-looking brunette—all spilled out of their houses to unload the boxes before dusk. That the people of the cul-de-sac he now called home were so friendly and neighborly as to help unload the belongings of people they'd never met before made Fitz feel uneasy. Also, they smiled too much. It was unnerving and reminded him of _Invasions of the Body Snatchers_. 

“Oh, no, that’s OK, you don’t need to—Oh, alright, sure.” he winced as the neighbor—a tall, broad-shouldered man—scooped up a box from the back of the van and hoisted it over his head. The box was labeled “dishes and cookware” but the contents were some of the most valuable technology Fitz had constructed.

He rubbed a hand at the back of his neck as he watched the man lumber forward and, after two steps, trip over an invisible crack in the sidewalk sending the the box to the ground. Fitz pressed a hand to his mouth, forcing back a shout at the sound of glass shattering and metal bending.

“Shi—I am _so_ sorry. I can’t believe I just did that. My mom would be so upset at me if she knew.” The neighbor stared at the mangled cardboard through his fingers and the other worker bees hummed to a stop, watching motionless until a soft voice cut through the silence.

“Oh it's no bother, those were a wedding gift from my mother-in-law, and honestly I'm glad to be rid of them.” From the top step of the porch, his partner, Agent Jemma Simmons, smiled warmly. She knew fully well what tech they'd packed up and in what box—she had a rather detailed spreadsheet on the tablet in her work bag—but she was doing a convincing job playing the carefree wife. Of course, she also knew Fitz could mend any broken tech in no time. Stepping forward, she extended her hand out to the clumsy man.

“We’re the Petries— _like the dish_.” Fitz swallowed a groan. She’d been practicing that joke on him the entire forty minutes it took them to get to the housing development. “I’m Laura and the man behind you acting like I've offended his mother’s taste in china patterns is my husband, Rob.”

“Ah, I'm,” the man rubbed his big paw of a hand on his trousers before thrusting it at Simmons, “Mike Raskin. My mom and I live just down two doors down. Been taking care of her since her stroke.”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you. And it’s lovely to meet you, Mike.” She was speaking far too sweetly and Fitz did his best to keep from rolling his eyes. Judging by her sharp glare over Mike’s shoulder, his best wasn’t good enough. “Is that a caduceus around your neck? Are you a doctor, Mike?”

“Ah, yeah,” he tapped the pendant. “I’m a veterinarian, actually. In fact, if you folks decide to get a pet, I’d be happy to check it out for free. As long as it’s under sixteen pounds. The community board requires all pets be under sixteen pounds.”

“Oh, honeybunch, we can finally get that capuchin we’ve always wanted.” Fitz moved to stand next to her, awkwardly wrapping an arm around her shoulders and giving her a squeeze. 

While gestures of physical affection were necessary for their cover of husband and wife, he found it difficult, a little afraid his touch would be unwelcome or would give his best friend and long-time partner the wrong idea. _Or the right idea_ , his traitorous brain supplied.

Simmons angled her body against his side and wrapped an arm around his waist as she threw her head back in a laugh for the benefit of their neighbor. Fitz did his best to ignore how warm and soft she felt, pressed against him.

“Oh, crabbycakes, we’ve talked about this—you know I’m allergic.” He grimaced as she pinched his side, out of sight from prying eyes.

Soon, the worker bees dispersed and the unloaded van disappeared out of the creepy, pristine cul-de-sac. Fitz stared after the van until it was out of sight, jealous of the driver at the wheel. The lucky bastard got to leave. 

He and Simmons had barely set foot in their (hopefully) temporary home and already he was longing to return to their normal lives. Of course it had nothing to do with the fact he was currently stranded in the middle of _Wisconsin_ , forced to play house. Not even a little bit. And it certainly didn’t have anything to do with the emerging feelings he _did not_ have for his best friend. Fitz swallowed a groan.

After SHIELD fell to Hydra and his team was forced to go to ground, he had thought things couldn’t get any worse. Then they’d been kidnapped by John Garrett and his henchmen—including a man they’d all once considered a friend. But after Coulson rescued them, he was certain nothing else terrible could happen. Of course, he soon was proven wrong when chatter came through the back channels that those higher up in the evil agency’s food chain where out to kidnap the pair and force them to comply with their nefarious ideology. He would do whatever it took to keep Simmons safe, and so when Coulson had informed them that the best way to stay safe was to hide out the Midwest, Fitz had gone along with it. But he didn’t have to like it. He really needed to learn to stop tempting the cosmos.

Pushing aside his gloomy thoughts, he charged into the house to examine the broken equipment hidden in the dishes and cookware box only to jump when Simmons slammed the front door with more force than strictly necessary.

“What the hell, Simmons?” He relaxed his shoulders down from his ears, but his eyes still felt as if they were going to pop out of his head.

“ _Laura_ ,” she corrected. “We’re married now.”

He pretended those words didn’t make him blush.

“Are you saying you want me to carry you over the threshold, _Laura_ ?” Of course she would take their new identities far more seriously than needed, the binder she’d shoved at him the night before being a large clue. Ignoring her annoyed little huff, Fitz dug into the box, fishing out a mangled DWARF “Oh, Sneezy, what did that bad man do to you? Look at your little arm.” The drone’s metal arm dangled at an odd angle and he tried not to whimper. It was a ghastly sight. He imagined the pain he felt was similar to that of a parent’s pain for a child...

“Fitz, this is serious.” Her arms were crossed over chest, hip tilted to the side and her newly trimmed bob brushed the tops of her shoulders. She was dressed in khakis and a light pink polo shirt with a matching cardigan sweater tied over her shoulders, making her look less like a SHIELD agent and more like she should be organizing a benefit at the country club.

That morning, she’d shown up at his hotel room door and shoved a blue monochrome outfit at him, leaving him to wonder if she was seizing the opportunity to infiltrate his wardrobe. There was even talk of him growing a beard, but he’d staunchly refused, choosing to let his curls grow out a bit as a compromise. He glanced away and pushed aside the implications of her involvement in his new attire, chalking it all up to her typical over-preparedness.

“Our tech is _destroyed_ , Simmons.” He fished out a second drone, this one with its metal guts spilling out in coils and gears. The inside of the box looked like a crime scene. He was going to be sick. Jemma only glared at him as she unloaded a cardboard box that actually held their dishes and cookware.

“This tells me you aren’t taking our situation seriously, Fitz.”

“I’m taking this situation just as serious as I take all others. I am a _professional_ and I recognize our lives are at stake. But excuse me if I find being ripped from the comforts of our base, from the safety of our friends, and forced to hide out from an evil agency in a neighborhood surrounded by automatons out of a… a…”  he scowled and gestured wildly to the front door, “a _Doctor Who_ episode.”

Fitz tipped the bolts out of the bottom of the cardboard box. “Hydra infiltrated SHIELD and forced the organization underground—but oh, by the way, FitzSimmons they happen to want to brainwash you both until you comply with their goal of total world domination, so go hide out in a picturesque neighborhood in _Wisconsin_ of all bloody places.”

He knew he was ranting but he didn’t care. It might be springtime but it sure didn’t feel like it. While Scotland and the New England states were also cold, he’d grown used to the temperate weather surrounding their SHIELD base.

“This is a brilliant location for us, Fitz. After all, one of the highest-rated public universities is just down the road.” Simmons wiped out the kitchen cabinets with something lemon-scented before stacking up the dishes, making Fitz’s nose twitch.

“Universities are more than likely the _first_ place Hydra will look for us.” With Sneezy’s various pieces spread out in front of him a nearby table and his magnifying lenses perched on his nose, he fixed what he could with basic tools. He’d do a better job once he could unpack his soldering kit.

“Not in this arctic tundra. But that’s why I’m set up at an affiliated lab and you’re teaching one course while you complete your proposed book.” He rolled his eyes—the idea that he would write a book was one of the most prosperous parts of their cover story. 

“Of course, that’s just a ruse anyway, so you can keep an ear to the ground throughout the day. No need to draw more direct attention to ourselves than necessary.” When he continued to glower, she added, “There are several pubs and restaurants in the area, too. In fact, Katelin invited us out to dinner with her husband, once we get settled.”

Fitz stopped short, looking at Simmons through the magnifying lens he’d donned to examine Sneezy. Dinner? With strangers?—Strangers who believed he and Simmons were married? He was hoping to avoid people for at least the first two weeks—if not the entire duration of hiding out. Realizing he was still staring at Simmons and she was expecting some sort of response, he swallowed before returning to his drone.

“Which one was Katelin?”

“You’re joking, right? She introduced herself at the start.” 

“Oh,” he winced, packing up his tools and Sneezy’s remaining parts. “The one with the severe expression, barking orders at the others?”

“She was very organized and I can appreciate it.” Of course she could, Fitz hid a grin. “Her husband wasn’t able to help out. He apparently works evenings. Does IT or something.”

“How did you learn so much about our neighbors in such a short amount of time?”

He grabbed a nearby box of marked “tea time” and pulled out several mugs, a stack of saucers, and her varied tea collection. 

“I’m trying to integrate, Fitz! Honestly. We need to make the best of a terrible situation, and I am _trying_.” For the first time since Coulson had informed them they would need to go undercover for their own protection, Fitz gave thought to how this upheaval must have affected Simmons.

He knew she was one to put on a brave face, to keep moving forward when a situation was terrible. He knew she believed, as he did, that as long as they were together, they could fix anything, including hiding out in a cul-de-sac in the middle of America. He was being a jerk. In truth, there was no one he'd rather be fake married to than Jemma Simmons.

Gently, he reached out to tap an index finger along her wrist.

“How’s about a cuppa?” he asked with the electric kettle in hand. She rewarded him with a small smile.

“The earl gray?” She tipped her chin up and he rolled his eyes as if it wasn’t even a question, as if he wouldn’t do his best to fulfill whatever request she made.

“Of course.”

Filling the kettle and setting it to boil, he cast an eye the mess of boxes and furniture. They had a full night of unpacking and organizing ahead of them. His stomach growled in protest.

“How’s about we take a break and order pizza, Simmons? Traditional moving day feast—complete with breadsticks and whatever sugary dough the local place calls a dessert.”

“I agree we should eat something, but unfortunately it’s too late to order takeaway.”

“What?” He glanced at the clock on the installed microwave. It was barely after six o’clock.

“The community’s curfew for all outside guests—including delivery drivers—is after five in winter months and after seven in summer months. Didn’t you read the handbook?”

His jaw dropped. What kind of nonsense…

“Simmons, not to be funny, but are you sure Coulson didn’t sign us up for a prison sentence?”

She gave him a patent look, complete with a roll of her eyes.

“I don’t think Coulson would abandon us in a prison—and one with such an immaculate lawn and pristine hardwood floors.”

“A curfew for pizza, though?” No doubt, Simmons would take the opportunity to force him to eat more green vegetables.

“Well, relax, would you? Katelin was kind enough to leave us a nice welcome dinner. Or more accurately, she delivered a dinner her husband prepared. Said she’s a disaster in the kitchen, it’s why she recommended a double date at a restaurant.”

He blinked, noticing the casual way Simmons mentioned a double date, as if it were the most normal thing in the world for the two of them.

“Right, well,” he cleared his throat, “let’s see what we’ve got then.”

Soon, they tucked into a nice spread of mushroom risotto, garlic bread, Caesar salad, and merlot, followed by chocolate chip cookies for dessert.

Maybe, he thought idly, undercover married life wasn’t so bad.

 

Undercover married life was awful. Standing in the doorway of the master suite, his eyes were locked on the king-sized bed taking up much of the room. Overwhelmed, Fitz could practically feel his brain screaming as Simmons showered in the bathroom across the hall.

How had he managed to forget about sleeping arrangements? How had they not planned for this? Coulson had promised to furnish the upstairs rooms the day before, leaving only their personal belongings and the basic living essentials for the downstairs rooms in the moving van. This was Coulson’s fault. If Simmons had been left to organize their relocation, there was little doubt she would have planned for an additional sleeping arrangement. 

While he and Simmons had shared close living quarters before, both during school and at the base, sharing a bed was a totally different issue. The house had an extra bedroom, in addition to the large master suite and he darted into the other room only to find it had been made over into a large office, perfect for two people. Not a bed in sight. Sighing, he went back to the master suite and wondered if the community’s curfew extended to a maniac homeowner driving off to purchase an air mattress from the nearest big box store at midnight.

Before he could form a game plan, Simmons stepped into the bedroom wearing a long silk rose-colored robe and her hair piled up in a towel. Her skin was pink from the shower and Fitz found it difficult to look away. A tendril of hair slipped out of her towel and curled in the humid air. _Bloody fantastic._

“Shower’s free, if you want…” she stopped, looking at him with an expression he couldn’t quite place. Perhaps she found this new angle to their friendship just as awkward as he did. Perhaps she thought he looked odd, watching her so intently. He forced himself to glance away. “What’s wrong?”

“Uh… The, uh. Bed.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder then folded his arms over his chest. He found it impossible to look her in the eye. He supposed he could always sleep on the sofa downstairs... once they dug it out from all the boxes. 

“Oh. Well, we are married, aren’t we? It would be silly to have two beds.” 

“There’s a guest room right down the hall. Well, an office, really. But it would make perfect sense if we had a bed in the guest room. A trundle bed or an air mattress or a...”

“Oh, come now, Fitz. It’s not that big of a deal.” She toweled her hair dry. “We can share a bed tonight and then figure it out tomorrow morning, if you prefer a different arrangement.”

Fitz’s brain stalled at her suggestion and it must’ve showed on his face.

“Why are you freaking out?” Simmons eyed him. 

“Why are you _not_ freaking out?”

“Because I’m knackered. We just spent the day uprooting our lives and moving into a new house, hundreds of miles from our friends and family.” She dropped the robe and Fitz was relieved to see she was wearing a set of matching plaid flannel pajamas. Just the same, he thought she looked adorable, warm and cozy. 

He thought back to Ward’s advice to tell Simmons how he felt before it was too late. Of all the times to realize he’d fallen for his best friend, the moment right before they were forced to hide out together was the absolute worst. In the end he hadn’t done anything, too swept up by the betrayal of a man he’d considered a friend and a brother. And even still, he hadn’t managed to find the words to tell her before they were captured by John Garrett’s team of evil-doers. Fitz hated to think what he would have done if something had happened to them. If Coulson had failed to save them, would he have blurted it out, under duress?

He shook the thought away—no use pondering various outcomes of a hypothetical situation. It would never be the right time to tell Jemma Simmons how he felt, the interfering cosmos had seen to that. Of course it was best he kept his feelings to himself—he didn’t want to ruin their relationship when Simmons clearly saw him as nothing more than a friend. He cared about her and was happy with what they had, but he couldn’t help the worry that his feelings were beginning to show.

“Bloody cosmos,” he muttered, eyeing what looked like a comfortable memory-foam mattress and down comforter.

“I’m sorry?” 

“Nothing,” he blushed.

“Fitz, I’m exhausted and this bed is quite large for two people.” She turned back the covers and gave the empty space next to her a friendly pat. “Besides, like I said, we’re essentially married now.” 

Dumbfounded, he gaped at her, then, blinking once, he snatched the pillow from what would have been his side of the bed. 

“I’ll sleep on the floor, Simmons.” 

“If you must,” she replied, but there was a hint of something else in her tone. Something almost like… hurt. But then, when she next spoke, it was gone. “I’m setting the alarm for six. I need to report for orientation at the lab by seven.”

“Fine by me.” He punched at the pillow under his head and settled in. “Tomorrow is one of my work from home days. Rob must be quite the kept lad, eh, only bothering to teach one class?” He tried to be playful, wanting to alleviate some of the awkward tension growing between them after his sulk about the bed, but Simmons only hummed her response.

Tomorrow, he decided, he would be a better fake husband. 

“Good night, Fitz,” she murmured in the dark. 

“‘Night, Simmons.” 

* * *

Early the next morning, while Simmons got ready for her first day at the new lab, Fitz ran out to the nearby market and picked up a few groceries to make a quick breakfast—as well as to keep himself fed during the day.

“Egg in a basket and tea!” She beamed as he held a plate out for her. 

“And strawberries on the side.” 

“Oh, Fitz, this is so thoughtful but I’m already running late.” Her brow furrowed in worry as she stuffed a couple of folders and her wallet into her bag, but he pushed forward.

“You have to eat. You have a very important day ahead of you.” 

It was an argument she’d used on him countless times and she knew it. With an affirmative nod, she plopped a berry in her mouth. Then, not bothering to sit, and mindful of her work attire, she took a couple quick bites of her toast and gulped her now tepid tea. 

“Quite the treat, Fitz.” 

“I’m just trying to get this suburban lifestyle down, Simmons,” he offered teasingly, handing her a large travel mug of tea. 

“Do behave today, dear husband,” she said, grabbing her bag and pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. Before he could even register her lips on his skin, she was out the door and in the car. 

Brushing his thumb over the buttery mark, he wondered if she realized she’d even done it. 

By the time lunch rolled around, Fitz had ordered an air mattress for same-day delivery, unpacked the remaining downstairs boxes, wired up the entertainment sound system, and added extra surveillance measures to the pre-existing—albeit basic—security system. He most definitely hadn’t given more thought to the kiss Simmons had pressed to his cheek that morning. He hadn’t rewound and fast-forwarded the scenario in his mind, trying to determine if it was intentional or not. A kiss between friends, like when she’d reassured him after the Chitauri virus… or was it something more? 

“You need to get a grip,” he growled as he descended to his freshly organized workstation in the basement. 

He and Simmons were stuck in their suburban hideout for the foreseeable future, no need to make things more uncomfortable than necessary. Their situation was no different than when they’d been at SciOps… No different except their neighbors thought they were married. No different than Simmons kissed him without reason and called him “dear husband” in her playful way... He groaned. He needed to focus on something else, something he could manage.

And so, with his recovered soldering iron and protective goggles in hand, he was mending Sneezy’s bent arm when he heard a large crunch in the back garden. The sound was just outside the low basement window, almost as if something—or someone—had landed on one of the manicured bushes near the back porch. 

Mentally, he ran through the layout of the house only to realize the window to their office was above the porch. Fitz flipped on the security cam app installed on his tablet. The app had a secret panic button meant to signal SHIELD that they were in distress—while it was a risk to have any shred of contact with their agency, while hiding out from a psychopath terrorist organization, it was a necessary risk. For a moment, Fitz’s finger itched to press the panic button but instead, he took a breath and focused on the exterior footage. Nothing looked out of place, either inside or… He pulled up short as he scanned the outside live feed catching what looked like a tall shadow move just out of frame at the corner of the house…

“What in the—”

Before he could give it more thought, the electricity flickered and Fitz’s stomach dropped. Grabbing an ICER from his workstation drawer, he raced up the stairs and hoped the weapon hadn’t been damaged the day before thanks to their exuberant neighbor.

Reaching the backdoor, Fitz peered out the small window, around the frosted glass inlays. He saw nothing out of the ordinary—just neatly trimmed lawns and well pruned trees as far as the eye could see. He glanced back at the live feed on his tablet, swiping through various camera angles. Everything looked in order.

“Must’ve just been a glit—” 

The words barely out of his mouth, there was a heavy knock and he jumped and he thankful Simmons wasn’t home to witness his startled yelp. He pulled up the live feed to the security camera on the porch. A man, about his height and wearing a baseball cap and hoodie shifted calmly back and forth, giving a passer-by a shout and a wave. Before Fitz could wonder if the man would take a hint and leave, he held up a box to the frosted window.

“You got a delivery,” the stranger offered in a thick Texan drawl. “I’m guessin' it must be pretty important ‘cause it says same-day deliv—” The air mattress. Fitz yanked open the door before he could finish. In hindsight, he should have proceeded with more caution, considering he was an agent being hunted by a terrorist organization. He held the ICER behind his back but gripped it a little tighter. The man stopped and thrusted a hand out, “You must be Rob. Name’s Tyler Frayer. Didn’t get a chance to stop by yesterday, had to work, but my missus said your missus told her you work from home on Monday’s so I thought now was just as good a time as any.” 

Fitz, taking the offered box with his free hand, was already regretting opening the door. “Your missus?”

“Ah, yeah, brown hair, tall,” Tyler gestured with his free hand, “looks like she’s always plotting someone’s murder.” 

“Ah, Katelin.” Everything was syncing up. The man who’d made the mushroom risotto. 

“That’s her, and by the way, she is always plotting murder,” Tyler snorted at his personal joke and Fitz must’ve looked stricken, so he added, “ _Mine_.” He clapped Fitz on the back, sending him stumbling forward. 

Then, before he knew what was happening, Tyler was standing in his foyer. “Wow, you got this place up and running in no time. Everything’s unpacked. Kate would be impressed. She’s big on organization and rules—serves on the community board, but I’m sure she told you that already. Talks about it nonstop.”

Fitz was surprised she could get a word in. He sat the delivery box near the stairs and hid his ICER next to it. 

“Whoa, hey,” Tyler pointed to the stack of video games on the television stand. “You’ve got _Grand Theft Auto_?”

“Uh, yeah.” He scratched behind his ear.

“I don’t suppose you’d be up for a game or two?” Tyler turned back around with a hopeful look. “I haven’t played in months and I’m wide awake—the perils of working the nightshift. Kate doesn’t let me keep video games in the house—says they’re too violent. Then again, she’s pretty violent when she playing Wii Tennis—got a mean backswing.”

“Oh, uh, I mean…” 

“Unless you have plans?” A glimmer of disappointment passed over Tyler’s face. Fitz didn’t have anything pressing to do for the rest of the day except wait for Simmons to return home… And he hadn’t played a video game in months. Plus, making friends with their neighbors would definitely show Simmons he took their forced relocation seriously, right? He dug out the controllers from a decorative basket Simmons had packed.

“Yeah, sure. I’ve got the time.”

 

Fitz and Tyler gamed for hours until Katelin called, looking for her husband. But despite his persistent wife, he refused to leave until Fitz agreed the Petries would double date with the Frayers on Tuesday night. Fitz, won over by Tyler’s dogged nature and video game skills, agreed and hoped Simmons wouldn’t mind, after all, she’d mentioned hanging out with the couple just yesterday.

Twenty minutes after Tyler left, Simmons’ headlights flickered through the large picture window as she pulled into the driveway. Fitz made sure to disengage the new security system before he heard her key in the door. 

“I’m home and I brought dinner!” Simmons shouted as soon as she hit the front door, her arms full of pizza boxes and a six-pack of beer. With his nose in his tablet, he slipped around the corner to re-engage the alarm.

“I upgraded our security.” He queued up the app, and typed in the passcode. “I mean, you could barely call it security, to begin with.”

“Oh, lovely work, Fitz.” She looked around the living room and foyer, eyes wide. “And, oh my goodness, you’ve been busy today.” 

“I mean, I guess, yeah.” He took the pizza boxes from her arms. “But not as busy as you were, I’m sure. I thought you’d text or call, or something.” 

He’d been surprised she hadn’t messaged him on her lunch break and wondered if it was due to embarrassment after kissing his cheek at breakfast. He’d done his best to not think about it himself and had done his best to convince himself it meant nothing.

“Oh, Fitz, I’m sorry,” Simmons fetched plates and napkins. “I was swamped with orientation and various meetings. I met quite a few people—the majority of them seemed nice and respectable. Although, ugh, the person in charge of the contracts department was insufferable, nattering on about complying with the rules. Probably to be expected though.”

He opened a beer and passed it to her as she dished him up a couple slices with extra sausage and jalapeno peppers—his favorite. 

“Oh! That reminds me, I met one of our neighbors.” His mouth was full. “Remember that terrifying woman who organized our move yesterday? Tall like an Amazon?”

“Honestly, she was _not_ terrifying.” Simmons rolled her eyes, bemused.

“Yeah, well, she sounded bloody terrifying when she called Tyler to tell him to come home.”

“Tyler?”

“Her husband. We talked and played video games.” He popped another jalapeno in his mouth. Simmons’ face lit up. 

“Oh, Fitz, do you think he can give us that risotto recipe?” 

“I could ask. Or actually, you could ask.” He scratched his ear, bracing for her reaction to what he was about to say. “Tomorrow. When we have dinner with him and Katelin.” 

“A double date so soon?” Her eyes grew wide. 

“Uh, yes? I mean, he was very persistent and you’d mentioned Katelin offered yesterday. I thought it was a good idea since we need to blend in, you know. Make friends, connections.”

“You’re exactly right. You’re brilliant. I’m just surprised. You’ve had a much more productive day than I thought.” 

“I even fixed Sneezy.” He grinned and she laughed, but when he added, “and the air mattress arrived,” her expression clouded for a brief moment.

“Well, that was fast. I’m sure you’ll sleep much better tonight on that than the hardwood floor.” He frowned at her strange tone as she moved to box up the leftovers. Finished with his slice, he stood to help but she gave him a tight smile. “You go on and head upstairs. I’ll clean up from dinner, Fitz.” 

With a brief nod, he made his way up to the stairs. He was still wondering what had led to the shift in her mood while unpacking and inflating the mattress. 

* * *

The next morning, his back was sore from sleeping on the unruly air mattress and Simmons was gone before he could make her breakfast. By mid-day he was getting anxious, worried by her silence. Thankfully, Tyler messaged him with a details for dinner—a local Italian restaurant—and Fitz quickly used it as a reason to text Simmons. He then retreated to the basement, hoping to distract himself with a few more repairs.

An hour later, she sent him a text saying she had a late meeting and would meet him at the restaurant. Fitz groaned. He wasn’t great at relationships but he had the distinct impression he was in what was commonly referred to as the doghouse. More distressing, he wasn’t even sure what he’d done to upset her. 

“For a fake marriage, it’s all very complicated,” he muttered to Doc as he gingerly tucked the coiled sensor back into the drone’s abdomen. 

His day progressed much as the previous day had—he repaired gadgets, kept a watchful eye on the updated security system, and prepared an introduction presentation for his first class on Wednesday. Soon, it was time to meet the Frayers and Simmons—no, he reminded himself, she was _Laura_ , _his wife_. Tonight, of all nights, was no time to slip up and call her by the wrong name.

Arriving at the restaurant, he was surprised to see Simmons already there, chatting animatedly with Katelin and Tyler near the entrance. Sensing his approach, she turned and he was staggered by her warm and sincere greeting. 

“Why, hello,” she smiled as she leaned up to press a kiss at the corner of his mouth. Briefly, he thought he saw a hint of pink crest the tops of her cheeks as she glanced at his mouth. But then she dropped back down to the ground and squeezed his arm. “I missed you.” 

He could tell she meant it. He’d missed her too—ambling around the large empty house was rather boring without her. 

“Yeah, yeah. Same.” He pulled her against him and dropped a kiss to her hair. “Work was good?”

She hummed her reply and they turned to their dinner companions. Katelin and Tyler were watching them closely, strangely—almost a hint of amusement in their eyes that left Fitz feeling self-conscious. 

“Well,” Katelin started, snapping into action. “I hope you’re both hungry. This place is the best in town. Their desserts are as authentic as anything you can get outside of Italy. Or so I’ve been told.”

And with that, they all filed in and followed the hostess to a plush corner booth decked out in crimson seat covers and a crisp linen tablecloth. A quick perusal of the thick menu left Fitz overwhelmed. 

“What’s good here?” 

“The pasta,” Tyler shrugged as Katelin flagged down their waiter and ordered a bottle of red wine to share.  

“You like spag bol and the menu says theirs is the best in the region.” Simmons pointed to the bold text.

“Spag bol and garlic bread seems typical.” He pulled his lip between his teeth and flipped to the next page. “I was trying to be adventurous, you know?’

“When in Rome?” she teased and he looked up at her, immediately grinning. 

“When in the greater Madison area.” He knocked his shoulder against hers and she laughed. 

Across the table, Katelin cleared her throat while Tyler watched them intently. Before they could comment, the waiter returned with the wine and to take their dinner orders. The strangeness of the moment evaporated only to be replaced by an awkward conversational fog typical when making new friends.

“So, how’d you two meet?” Katelin started, eyes darting between both of them. She seemed much more calm and approachable than she had when Fitz first saw her ordering their neighbors around on Sunday. Perhaps it was the few sips of wine, but she seemed relaxed.

“What was the question, again?”

“How did you meet?” Katelin repeated, slower. 

“Oh, uh, met at university.” He took a swig of wine. One of the first things Fitz and Simmons agreed about when planning their new identities was Rob and Laura Petrie should be as close to themselves as possible—after all, the easiest lies were folded in with the truth. 

“Really, hmm?” Tyler waggled his eyebrows at the pair just as their waiter and a server returned with their plates of food as well as salad and garlic bread. “Love at first sight?” 

“Hardly. He hated me.” Simmons pulled a face dramatically and his brain screeched to a halt. 

“I—what?” He sputtered, dumbstruck. “I didn’t hate you.” 

“You most certainly did. You glared at me, wouldn’t say two words—Until we were paired together in—Um, in chem lab.” She took the opportunity to dish a heap of salad onto his plate while he continued to stare at her.

“I didn’t hate you. You were brilliant and… and… beautiful—” He paused, wondering if it was OK to admit he thought her beautiful before deciding a husband would say that about his wife and it couldn’t hurt that it was true. He chanced a glance back at her but couldn’t quite meet her eyes. Still, he continued, “I wanted to impress you. Didn’t want to make a fool of myself.”

“Oh,” Jemma spoke, barely audible. He looked at her then. Her eyes were shining bright and her mouth was dropped in surprise as if their earliest encounters suddenly made sense. The air between them grew taut and Fitz wondered what she could possibly be thinking. 

He wanted to pull her out of the booth, drag her outside and tell her he meant every word. He also wanted to curl away from her and pretend he hadn’t just admitted his biggest truth. And then, with a blink, the moment passed and Jemma clutched his hand as she looked back at Katelin and Tyler. 

“Don’t let him fool you, I was impressed from the start.”

Fitz studied her, eyes locked on her profile, and he knew—from the way she was smiling and running her thumb over his knuckles—that her comment was sincere. Warmth bloomed in his chest. 

“So, ah,” Fitz exhaled, turning back the other couple, “what about you two? How’d you meet?”

“At a science-fiction convention,” Tyler grinned without missing a beat.

“You’re kidding?” That was not the answer Fitz expected.

“It's all Kate, here. She's quite the nerdy new-ager. Loves stories about aliens and stuff, the more romance the better. Not to mention those magnetic bracelets and crystals and mood rings. Bless her heart, she's a sucker for all that stuff.” He wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulders and pulled her against him with a wide grin. 

For a moment, Fitz thought it looked like she was about to elbow him in the chest. Their relationship seemed complicated and not exactly one he could use as a model for his own married life— _fake married life_. 

“Really?” Jemma wrinkled her nose. “I never would have guessed.”

“You don't say?” Katelin grimaced, playfully batting away her husband’s arm.

Their dinner conversation continued and Fitz realized he hadn’t laughed in months quite as much as he had during their entire meal. He found Katelin and Tyler to be fun and a suitably matched pair, despite his initial impression. Where Katelin was serious, Tyler was charming, and when he got too boisterous, she knew how to reel him back in. Their marriage seemed both like a well-oiled machine and lovable chaos. Maybe it was the wine but Fitz couldn’t help the slight pang of jealousy. 

 

Soon, both couples were signing their checks and saying their good nights with takeaway desserts in hand. They each promised to hang out again soon, and Fitz found he meant it. 

Since he and Simmons arrived in separate cars, he spent his drive back to the house replaying her comment about their first meeting. He couldn’t believe she thought he’d hated her when they first met. He knew he’d been aloof back then—it was, of course, his default. But it had all stemmed from wanting to say the right thing to Simmons. Thankfully, they’d been paired off in class and soon became the best of friends. Fitz wasn’t sure what his life would look like without her, and he hoped he would never find out. 

When he made it inside, Simmons was already waiting for him in the kitchen with their shared slice of tiramisu and an extra fork. 

“I didn’t know you felt that way. That you had to impress me.” She spoke around a bite of dessert. Clearly, he hadn’t been the only one spending the drive home thinking about their first meeting.

“Yeah well,” he tucked into the tiramisu before continuing, “I didn’t know I’d bungled it so much you thought I hated you.”

“You’ve always impressed me. You were so quiet and pasty.” He scoffed and she smiled, her eyes locked on the dessert container. “So incredibly smart. Handsome.” He glanced up, surprised, but she continued on. “I knew from the first moment… It’s quite the odd feeling, isn’t it? To never want to be apart from someone?” 

He felt himself tipping closer to her, as if pulled into her gravitational orbit. Mesmerized, his breath caught when she glanced up at him from the corner of her eye. 

“You must’ve been so annoyed—with me following you around all the time.”

“What?” He frowned. “No, never.” 

The atmosphere felt heavy between them, as if they were on the precipice of something important, but both were unsure what it was. Now, he realized, would be a good time to tell her how he felt… but his mouth felt like cotton, the words caught in his throat. Still, he had to try.

“Simmons,” he sighed. “Jemma, I—”

But before he could get any further, the electricity flickered and dimmed. He spun around, watching the kitchen light, waiting for it to burn out completely. 

“I’m sure it’s nothing.” The way she was worrying her bottom lip against her teeth belied her casual tone. Just the same, it was possible for it to actually _be_ nothing.

“Normally, I’d agree, but the same thing happened yesterday.”

“Maybe we got the shoddy house,” she offered. It was possible considering, statistically, these houses were built in a matter of weeks.

However, their brief optimism plunged when the electricity flickered once more and the house went completely dark. He felt Simmons reach out and grip his arm, fingers curling into his sleeve. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring pat before guiding her to the emergency kit. 

Then, armed with a flashlight and Simmons following close behind with an ICER, he checked the fuse box. Seeing it was still intact, the duo went outside and spotted a downed electric line hanging from the pole in their back garden. From the distance it looked like a wild animal had gnawed through the wiring. 

“Well, I guess we’ll have to call the electric company in the morning,” Simmons winced, still pressed close to his back. “What with it already being past curfew.”

He rolled his eyes and groaned. Just when he thought he was getting the hang of married suburban life, it threw him a curveball. How typical.

* * *

Domestic life for Rob and Laurie Petrie carried on. It had been almost three weeks since they moved into the cul-de-sac, three weeks since what appeared to be a raccoon chewed through their electric line (he had thought the chew marks looked too precise, but the technician assured him it was wild animal), three weeks since Fitz had started to wonder if maybe his feelings weren’t so one-sided as he’d thought… Her confession over dessert had left him reeling. She never wanted to be without him? He felt the same, but what did it all mean?

But with the nerve-wracking loss of electricity, there hadn’t been a good time to ask, or to voice his own thoughts. Instead, they continued on as they always did, their new domestic and professional lives falling into the synchronicity of two people who’d already shared half a lifetime. 

Simmons went to work at the lab on Monday through Friday, while Fitz taught a course on game theory and the corresponding engineering applications on Wednesdays and Fridays. The remaining weekdays, he “worked on his book,” or, rather tended to various domestic chores and drew up designs for possible prototypes. He also spent a couple afternoons during the week hanging out and playing video games with Tyler until their wives (it still felt strange referring to Simmons as his _wife_ , even as a cover story) returned home. Those evenings were frequently followed by double dinner dates at a nearby restaurant, or takeaway at the Petries’. Weekends were spent with Simmons, tending to the garden or curling up on the sofa with books, TV, and a pot of tea. They were even entertaining the idea of adopting a small dog after Mike the veterinarian dropped off a couple brochures on local shelters as well as a plate of cookies his mother had baked. 

And while Fitz’s growing feelings for her still bubbled along the surface, he found it easier to hide behind typical domestic duties such as packing her work lunch or brewing a hot drink. In short, they were settling into suburban life rather smoothly. 

“OK, important question time. Which series of _The X-Files_ are better, the ones they filmed in Vancouver or Los Angeles?” Simmons asked as she plucked a piece of spicy salmon roll from the platter. 

It was Friday night, and Friday nights meant sushi and marathoning _The X-Files_. They were mostly skipping around, watching their old favorite episodes. Since tonight was Simmons’ pick, they’d ended up watching several episodes from the sixth series. 

“Oh, well, that’s easy. Vancouver.” He slurped his miso soup. 

“Elaborate.” 

“You truly don’t see it?” 

“Oh, come now, Dr. Fitzy, we both know that’s not how to frame a proper argument.” She rolled her eyes and he couldn’t hide his smile as warmth for her buzzed through him. 

“Fine, well, for starters the atmosphere is just different.” He took a piece of her roll and chewed thoughtfully. “The earlier seasons, everything is swampy, gloomy… it fits the tone of the show. But once they’re filming in Los Angeles, everything seems a bit cleaner, brighter. It’s still fun— _for a while_ —but less atmospheric.” 

She’d grown quiet while he spoke and so he chanced a glance over at her, finally noticing her dropped jaw. He swallowed.

“What?” 

“Nothing, I’m just surprised you gave it such thought.” She shrugged before turning back to her dinner. “You know, he reminds me of the guy in charge of contracts at the lab, Dan.”

“Who does?” Fitz frowned, pointing his chopsticks at the screen. “Cigarette-Smoking Man?”

“Hmm, same creepy vibe. Less cigarettes, though. More coconut water.”

Just as he was about to respond, the doorbell chimed. Both he and Simmons traded looks. They seldom had visitors and it was too late for a delivery. Simmons reached into the drawer of the nearest end table and retrieved a pair of ICERs, handing one off to Fitz. 

Peering through the small window, he let out a sigh and relaxed his shoulders. 

“It’s just Tyler,” he muttered. 

“At this hour? Why didn’t he call?” Simmons whispered back, frantic from the rush of adrenaline. 

“My phone’s upstairs on the charger. He very well could have.” 

Tyler leaned pressed on the doorbell once more, his face smashed against the door frame. 

“Better answer it before someone from the community board swoops down and gives us all a citation,” Simmons hissed. 

“He’s married to the community board.” Fitz yanked open the door and Tyler tipped forward before catching himself against the jamb. 

“Howdy, Roberto,” he slurred.

“Are you sauced?”

“I am drunk as a skunk.” He gave a brisk nod. 

“ _Why_ are you ‘drunk as a skunk,’ and on our porch?” Simmons wrinkled her nose at the whisky permeating their friend’s pores.

“The missus has kicked me out. Which, I know it might come as a shock to y’all, but Katelin and I… our marriage isn’t as good as you think.” He fumbled his way into the living room. “Not at all like you two. What with your mutual respect and adoration. No, Katelin takes me for granted. _For granted_. Oh, is that lobster roll?” 

He gulped down a piece of sushi roll and Fitz winced. No way would that mix well with his whisky dinner.  

“Oh! Are y’all watchin’ _The X-Files_ ? I love that show. Have you seen the episode with neighborhood that’s overrun by some garbage monster?” He plopped down on the middle cushion of the sofa. “Pretty spooky, you know? I know all about garbage monsters—married one.” 

Fitz was starting to rethink his previous jealousy regarding Katelin and Tyler’s marriage. Maybe they were more of a mess than he originally suspected. 

The rest of their night progressed similarly, with Fitz and Simmons parked on either side of a drooling Tyler as he heckled the television and stole more bites of their dinner. Soon, he was dozing, and the pair shared a look, realizing he was planning on crashing, invited or not.

When they stood to clear up the remnants of their meal, Tyler gasped awake and bolted upright. 

“I gotta take a leak.” He stood, eyes bloodshot and bleary. 

“Charming.” Simmons mumbled as Fitz watched him stumble to bathroom at the top of the stairs, tucked between the master bedroom and the office.

“I take it he’s staying?” She dumped the containers in the garbage.

“What am I supposed to do? He’s blasted out of his mind. Maybe he can just sleep it off on the sofa and then go back to Katelin with a clear head.”

“One night.” Simmons held up a finger for emphasis, giving him a sense of marital domesticity usually reserved for American sit-coms.

“One night.” He agreed as their strange friend descended the stairs. 

“Thanks for setting up the air mattress upstairs, man.” Tyler clapped him on the back and he began to sputter. _Oh no_. He must’ve seen the mattress when walking by the bathroom. Panic crawled up Fitz’s neck and across his face. “Real thoughtful of ya. More thoughtful than my wife has ever been. Did I ever tell you about the time she changed the locks?”

Wide-eyed, Fitz turned to Simmons but she was trying to stifle a laugh. He couldn’t fathom what she found amusing about this new predicament. Hand pressed near her mouth, she turned on a heel.

“I’ll fetch an extra blanket for you, Tyler.” 

“You won the jackpot with that on, Roberto.” Tyler locked his arm around Fitz’s neck, as they watched Simmons disappear upstairs. He, of course, could only agree.

  


“I could sleep on the sofa.”

Already in his pajamas, Fitz shuffled awkwardly just inside the bedroom door as Simmons went through her nighttime moisturizing rituals. Her lotion smelled like lavender and warm vanilla. It was distracting.

“And have Tyler wonder what you’re doing down there when your wife is upstairs?” She pulled her hair up into a messy knot and he forced himself to look away from her sweet curve of her bare neck. 

Just when he thought he'd pushed aside his feelings for her and reconstructed boundaries only he was aware had tumbled down, something like this happened, throwing him into another tailspin. He swallowed, licked his dry lips. 

“The floor, then.” He tried to make it sound like a declaration. “The floor was fine last time.”

“You barely got any sleep.” 

He hadn’t slept well, but he didn’t realize she’d been aware. 

“That doesn’t matter. I just want you to be… to be comfortable.” He shuffled once more, nervously scratching at his ear before cutting a glance at Simmons. She was looking at him with a mixture of amusement and something else he couldn’t quite decipher. Something that looked akin to affection.

“Fitz, I trust you. And I’d prefer it if you didn’t sleep on the floor. It’s not good for your back—don’t start citing studies that say otherwise.” She climbed under the bedcovers before patting the empty side of the bed. “Now, would you please come to bed. You’re being ridiculous.”

Unable to form a suitable argument, he quietly and cautiously crawled into the bed, keeping as far to the edge of the mattress as possible. He was tense, hands folded over his stomach as he stared at the ceiling. There was absolutely no way he was going to get any sleep.

“I want to go to that farmer’s market in the morning, before the grocery store,” Simmons announced in the darkness. He hummed a response and she tipped her head in his direction. The room might be dark, but he was certain she was rolling her eyes at him. “Honestly, I’ve seen drift wood look more at ease. Would you relax? Your virtue is safe.”

“ _What_ ? Simmons—look, I just...” He shifted in the bed, the covers tangling at his feet. 

“Fitz?”

“Hmm?” He stilled, sighed.

“Go to sleep.” 

“Fine.” He closed his eyes but doubted sleep would come.

 

Hours later, Fitz blinked awake, bleary eyed as he struggled to read the clock on the dresser. 3:12 AM.

Somehow, in their sleep, he and Simmons had gravitated near each other. He was closer to the middle of the mattress and she was curled around him—practically sprawled on top of him, really. Gingerly, he dropped his arm to her shoulders, holding her closer and enjoying the feel of her snuggled against him. She murmured something and shifted further into his embrace. 

Despite the comfort and sweetness of the moment, Fitz knew he needed to find a way to shift her back to her side of the bed. He also knew Simmons was in such a deep sleep she had no idea she was currently wrapped around him—no doubt, she would be mortified when morning came, unless he did something about it.

Just as he was mentally preparing to slip out from her hold, a loud clamor sounded from the first level of their home. His heart dropped to his stomach and Simmons bolted upright. 

“You heard that, right?” Simmons whispered, her fingers curling into his shirt. 

It sounded like someone was breaking in. Had Hydra found them, despite their best efforts?

“Yeah. Definitely heard it.”

He dropped his arm from her shoulders and dug in the nightstand for the ICER he’d brought up from the living room. Then, together, they ventured out of the bedroom and for the stairs. Before they could get far, the wall at the back of the house rattled with some sort of impact—as if a body was slamming against it—followed by a series of bangs. What the hell was going on? 

At the top of the stairs, Fitz glanced back at the spare room. The door was still shut and he didn’t know if he should be thankful or not that Tyler was obviously sleeping through what he hoped was just a routine break-in. 

With Simmons tucked behind him and an ICER primed for attack, they progressed down to the first level as quietly as possible. He swept through the living room without the street lamps serving as a light source. The space was clear. The kitchen, however, told a different story. It was lit with a blue hue and Fitz could feel cool air as they approached. ICER raised, he went first… And then immediately tucked the weapon out of sight.

Their houseguest, it seemed, had grown peckish in the night and was helping himself to their fridge. 

“Tyler?” he hissed. “What in the hell? You’re supposed to be asleep!”

Behind him, Simmons exhaled and dropped her forehead to his shoulder. 

“Oh, uh, didn't mean to disturb.” He was devouring a hunk of buffalo mozzarella stuffed between two slices of bread. “Woke up with the whisky spins. You know how it is. Needed some carbs.”

“That racket was… _you_ ? You shook the house like a small explosion?” Fitz was shrieking but he didn't care.

“Ah, yeah. I fell. Like I said, the spins.” He twirled a finger in the air as if to further illustrate his point before heading back to the stairs, slapping Fitz on the back as he walked by. “But I'm much better now.”

Once Tyler had ambled back to bed, Simmons glared. 

“Quite the friend you’ve got there.”

“I’m sure he means well.” But as he surveyed the damage to their kitchen, he was beginning to wonder. The back door rattled with a gust of wind and Fitz stepped over to check it. 

Indeed, the exterior screen door was unlatched—in fact it looked bent, as if something or someone had pulled it from its hinges. Even more alarming were the thick scratches on the keyhole of the interior door. It looked as if someone had tried to pick the lock. 

Cold dread crashed down around Fitz as he peeked out into the back garden. There, in the light of the flood lamp, he saw several toppled potted plants and what looked like a streak of blood against the support beam of the porch. A glint of gold in one of the overturned plants caught his eye and he stepped out to investigate. It was a caduceus—similar to the one worn by their neighbor Mike.  

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Simmons whispered, her hands tucked up under her chin, her brown creased. “It could have fallen when he dropped off the shelter brochures and the cookies.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I don’t know. What other explanation is there?”

“That two of our neighbors had a fight on our back porch?”

Simmons said nothing, dragging her bottom lip between her teeth for a moment. Fitz reached out, compelled to touch her. She slipped her hand into his and pulled him into the kitchen. 

“Let’s just go back upstairs. We can figure it out in the morning.” 

He followed her back to bed and she tugged him under the covers. Worry churned in his gut as he thought about the scene on the back porch. What did it mean? Should they contact Coulson or would that raise too many alarms? All he wanted was to protect her and he would do whatever it took to keep her safe. 

So tangled up in his own thoughts, he barely noticed when she curled up next to him, her head against his shoulder once more. 

“Do try and get some sleep, Fitz,” she whispered, stroking the back of her hand over his forehead. With a heavy exhale, he wrapped his arm around her and soon the two fell back asleep.

 

When they woke a few hours later, Tyler was gone, having left a note on the air mattress. Even more curious, the back porch was tidy—no spilled potted plants, no smear of blood, and no screen door on bent hinges. The scratch marks on the keyhole remained but had been buffed down to appear older. If Fitz hadn’t left the caduceus pendant on the dresser in the master suite, he would have thought he’d dreamt the whole thing.

“I didn’t, right?” Fitz pushed the shopping trolley through the grocery store. Simmons grabbed a packet of tuna and turned back to him. “I didn’t dream it? Tyler was raiding our fridge and there was blood on our back porch.”

“I saw it, too.” She hooked her hand into the front of the trolley and guided them around the corner. 

“And then this morning, it was just _gone_.” He added a box of cheese crackers to their shopping. “Like we’re being gaslit.”

“I hardly think we’re being gaslit.”

“Any other ideas?” He struggled to form a proper solution. Simmons dragged the trolley into the next aisle and gave him a warning glance. 

“I’m not sure, but I think it’s best if we discuss the matter at home.” Right. They were in public—in a mild-mannered suburban grocery store filled with people whose biggest struggle was whether or not the strawberries were organic. 

“Oh, why, hello!” 

Fitz glanced up, surprised to see Simmons waving to Mike, their neighbor. He was pushing his frail-looking mother in a wheelchair, a basket of various dry goods on her lap. He looked a little ragged and worn.

“We were just talking about you,” she continued, smiling. Something flickered in the man’s eye but he smiled back just as warmly. His mother was staring at Simmons with an unnerving intensity and it made Fitz feel uneasy, but he followed his partner’s lead.

“Yeah, we were gardening this morning and found your pendant… thing.” He gestured at his own neck. 

“Caduceus,” Simmons supplied without missing a beat.

“Oh! Yes,” Mike staggered. “I’ve been looking for that for days. Strange that it made it to your yard.”

“Yes, that’s what we thought. Rather peculiar.” Simmons shrugged and chuckled. “Perhaps the raccoon that’s been terrorizing our electrical wiring decided to pay a penance.” 

Fitz blinked before cutting her a speaking glance. _A raccoon's penance?_ She gave him a tiny shrug. 

“Yeah, sure. Listen, uh, I’m glad I caught you here. There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.” Mike shifted awkwardly, his eyes darting over their heads. He was noticeably sweaty and there were deep scratches along his knuckles. Fitz could even see a slight bruising around his left eye. He didn’t like how the evidence was adding up. 

“Oh?” He straightened his posture, alert. 

“Yeah, just. I noticed you’ve been hanging out with the Frayers a lot lately. And… uh. Well, I think you should know that they’re… Uh.” He finally met their eyes. “They’re not who they seem.” 

“What does that mean?” Fitz could only frown. 

“Just that… you shouldn’t trust them.” 

“Does this mean Tyler won’t be returning our pruning shears?” Simmons tisked. They hadn’t loaned anything out to their neighbors, but he recognized her comment for what it was—a means to break the tension, to distract from the conversation and allow them a getaway. 

“Uh...Well…” Mike stalled while his mother only blinked owlishly. She then reached out to snatch a box of macaroni from a nearby shelf but her curled hands missed and it fell to the ground. Simmons retrieved it with a smile and dropped in the woman’s basket. 

“It’s time for my stories!” The old woman croaked, cracking her hand against her son’s arm. He winced and quickly said goodbye. 

“We’ll be sure to drop your pendant off!” Simmons called after them with false cheer, but Mike barely acknowledged her. Then, leaning into Fitz, she added, “That was highly suspicious.” 

“To say the least. It’s a Saturday, soaps don’t air on weekends.” He sighed when she raised an eyebrow at him. “I’ve been spending too much time alone at the house.” 

“Yes, there’s the fact it's Saturday, but more importantly—the bottoms of his mother’s shoes are scuffed up from walking on concrete. I got a good look when picking up the macaroni.”

“So?” He followed her lead as she pulled the trolley to the nearest register. After their strange encounter, neither of them had any desire to stay in the store any longer.

“So he said she’s confined to that wheelchair. But if that’s the case then the soles of her shoes shouldn’t be so worn down, right?”

“I guess?” Together, they unloaded their groceries onto the belt. “And did you notice his knuckles?”

“And his eye? Like someone punched him in the orbital socket,” she half whispered, half hissed, and Fitz turned his head. 

“Maybe we should table this until the car.” 

“Agreed.” Anxious, she tapped her fingers along his wrist. “I don’t like this at all.” 

“Me either,” he whispered, wrapping a comforting arm around her waist as the clerk rang up their purchases. 

Then, as she leaned into his embrace, he mentally ran through SHIELD’s extraction protocol and wondered if someone would answer their call.

 

“It’s dark enough out, they should at least have the an interior light on,” Simmons whispered, arm looped through Fitz’s elbow as they strolled down the street to Mike’s house under the guise of returning his pendant.

The sky was already turning a dusty rose and even though they were still well within the pre-curfew time frame, Simmons insisted they each take an ICER. When she wasn’t looking, he’d traded his non-lethal weapon out for the loaded pistol he’d kept in the front coat closet. 

Together, they stepped to the porch and rang the bell but to no answer.

“Well, this is certainly against the community guidelines,” Simmons gestured to a stack of newspapers and mail shoved behind a bush, soggy from the rainstorm they’d had days ago.

Nodding in agreement, he bit at his cheek. This was all growing more and more unsettling. He peered into the tiny sliver of unfrosted glass next to the front door. The front rooms were dark and unlived in. Before Fitz could get Simmons’ attention, a tall shadow passed down the hall and he struggled to focus his eyes. Then, eyes locking on the figure, he gasped and immediately reached for his partner. 

“C’mon, we gotta go,” he whispered, pulling her against him and down the stairs. “We’re just two married people out for a stroll and are now heading home.” 

“Fitz?” She whispered when they'd walked a few steps and he tipped his head down to hear her. “What did you see back there?”

“I'll explain when we're back inside, Jemma.” She only nodded and looped her arm around his waist, doing her best to appear the opposite of terrified in case anyone was watching.

Once they made it back to the house, he guided her into the foyer and then turned the lock and drew the deadbolt before keying up the heightened security system. Only when he heard the system engage with a sharp beep did he exhale.

“What was it? What did you see?” Simmons stepped closer, her hands drawn up to her throat. 

“I can’t be certain, not 100%, but…” he took a deep fortifying breath, “I think I saw Katelin.”

“In Mike’s house? What could that possibly mean?”

“Well, Mike did warn us against them. Said they weren’t to be trusted.” 

“Yes, but look at the state of his house, Fitz!” She swept her arms out wildly before digging through the drawer they used to dump miscellaneous clutter—for someone as organized as Simmons, the junk drawer was her one fault. “While you were at the window, I had a better look at the pile of newspapers and mail—they’re addressed to an Edgar Black.” 

“That does not sound right,” Fitz winced. 

“Correct. And now I’m curious about what other things he’s lied about.” She held up the pet adoption and animal shelter brochures Mike dropped off. “Mike said this sticker on the back was for his veterinary office.” 

Realization dawning, he pulled out a mobile phone and connected it to a pocket-sized data scrambler before dialing the included number. He held the phone out so Simmons could hear to the disconnected dial tone. She turned back to him, eyes wide and hands clutching her neck. 

“What if they’re all working together—the three of them?” He tossed the phone down on the nearest surface. “Colluding and we got mixed up in it.”

“Doing what, exactly?” She was watching him with a sharp eye as he paced around their living room. 

“Drugs?” He flailed about. “There are numerous American shows on the subject—people selling drugs in the middle of a small town or community.” 

“Fitz, this is a little more serious than a television show.” 

“I know that! You think I don’t know that? We’re hiding out from a major terrorist organization that wants to scramble our brains and I just…” He sighed and slumped against the wall. 

“It’ll be alright. We just need to focus and figure out the most reasonable solution.” She was using the voice she’d used when he would spin out during a particularly grueling study session at the Academy. “So, the facts.”

“Right, facts.” Focusing on what they knew would help eliminate the feeling of panic currently dragging its way up Fitz’s spine. While the loaded pistol was still tucked in the waist of his trousers (with the safety on, of course) and Simmons’ ICER was within reach, he wanted nothing more than to hit the emergency call button that would send a fleet of unmarked black sedans to their driveway. 

“So, first things,” she ticked the items off on her fingers, “Katelin and Tyler Frayer. Katelin works in securities and Tyler is in IT.”

“ _Where_ ?”

“Downtown?” Simmons dragged her lip between her teeth.

“Yes but where downtown?” Fitz frowned. “You never thought to ask?”

“Tyler’s over here almost every day—why haven’t _you_ asked?”

“It… it never came up.” He blinked, dumbfounded at his own confession. Then, his foot tapping against the hardwood floor, he felt his frustration grow. It made perfect sense that they would be trapped in the middle of some weird suburban turf war while hiding out from Hydra. Of course. “You know I’ve had a bad feeling about this cul-de-sac from the moment we ended up here. Everyone walking around, smiling like androids. It’s unsettling.”

“Oh, yes, Fitz, all the people are smiling so they must be robots,” she groused. 

“I’m just saying, this place has been creepy from the start.” 

“Oh, you’ve enjoyed it. Living the domestic life. Don’t act like these last few weeks haven’t been a dream come true!” 

His jaw dropped at the suddenness of her words, at the implication, and a prickly numbness crashed through his body. How had she figured him out? Fight or flight began to set in and judging by the anger coursing through him, he was choosing fight.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Hands on his hips, he strode closer but she didn’t seem to notice, too caught up in her own fury.

“You never wanted to go on the Bus. You hated it from the moment I suggested it—threw it in my face any chance you got. Well, this is perfect for you. You get to play house-husband while I trot off to a lab every day, bored out of my _mind_ while some idiot natters on at me about contract compliance.”

“You think I enjoy staying in this house for hours— _days_ —on end, while you’re out there with _countless_ threats of danger?” He was shouting now and he couldn’t care less. “It makes me sick to my stomach that I’m not there, by your side. That I can’t protect you. Instead, I’m sitting in this house, waiting for you to come back to me—and for what? It’s not like you’re in a lab somewhere, getting counterintelligence. But you’re not, are you?”

She straightened her posture and Fitz realized he was crowding her personal space but he made no effort to step back. Dimly, he noted a deep flush coloring her fair skin and her amber eyes locked on his every move. Filling his lungs with a shaky breath, he continued on. 

“No, it’s just a regular ol’ lab in the middle of America where you mix together samples for eight hours a day. You’re as bored by your job as I am with teaching one class, and why wouldn’t we be? Two people who’d achieved doctorates before most our age even thought about visiting a college, let alone enrolling. But you love adventure. You want to see the theories we studied put into action, and I can understand that. But we’ve been on the move for _years_ —whether studying for some test or trying to keep our friends from dying. So, have I enjoyed these last few weeks of domesticity? Of living above ground? Yes. But don’t begin to act like you haven’t enjoyed it all just as much.” 

Simmons tipped her head back to get a better look at him, he was standing so close. He didn’t mean to, but his eyes snagged on her bottom lip, drawn to its fullness. A need to kiss her crushed through him so suddenly it left him staggered. He did his best to push the thought aside but the silence between them grew tangible, weighty. A decisive gleam sparked behind her eye and his mouth went dry. Reaching for him, she slipped her hands into his hair and drew him down to her. 

He froze until the sweet press of her lips, the gentle caress of her hands along his jaw, brought him back to his senses. He had spent so much time brushing aside daydreams of kissing his best friend that now, when presented with such a moment, he feared he was bungling it. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he wanted her as close as possible, wanted to follow the soft slant of her mouth and drink her in. Feeling her smile against his mouth, he couldn’t hide his shock as she pulled back to nip at his lower lip before nuzzling her nose against his cheek.

“That wasn’t how I expected our argument to end,” he offered, dazed.

“Wasn’t it?” She looked rosy-cheeked and pleased with herself. “Pity. I’ve often thought about shutting you up with a kiss.”

He stumbled, so shocked by her admission a response wouldn’t form. For a brief moment, he wondered if his train of thought was once again derailed because of Jemma Simmons. But his moment of surprise was quickly interrupted by the shatter of a window and a black canister spinning on the kitchen floor as it. The countdown clock flashed in bright red numbers—twenty seconds. How did they go from sharing their first kiss to scrambling for their lives? What kind of sick joke was the universe playing? 

Time slowed down as Fitz stared at the device. It was a frequency bomb designed to emit a high pulsating sound meant to immobilize its victims but keep them alive—alive for an organization like Hydra. Not really the sort of thing used by community drug lords. He practically groaned—and if they had more than fifteen seconds before the frequency shifted to a deafening pitch, he would have. 

They had fifteen seconds to act but he had no idea how many Hydra agents were waiting outside. Were they surrounded? Were the weapons they had enough to get them to the car? If he had his tablet, he could check the surveillance feeds, or at least check them once they were able to gain some distance away from the bomb. He’d also be able to flip the panic button to alert SHIELD of the attack. His tablet, however, was tossed over in kitchen counter, and there was no way he would be able to reach it and make it back to the living room before the bomb detonated. As if sensing his thoughts, Simmons dug her fingers into his arm, keeping him in place. 

“Don’t,” she whispered, the one word filled with such fear he was rooted to the floor. They had ten seconds left. They each reached for their weapon, bracing for the detonation and the impending crash of Hydra agents...

Three seconds left. 

One second left.

Together, they waited for the deafening frequency but it didn’t come. Instead, the red dot of what appeared to be a sniper scope danced through their front windows, over the white walls and the sofa before briefly bouncing off of Fitz’s shirt. Simmons yelped at the sight and pulled him out of range. Then, without preamble, the red dot landed on the frequency bomb and took it out with one clear shot. Fitz was even more confused. 

“What in the world?” Simmons gasped at the shards of plastic and burnt wires. 

Struggling to take the situation, they jumped at a heavy knock on the front door.

Weapons drawn, they inched over. 

“Who—who is it?” Simmons practically sang. He shot her a look but she only winced and shrugged. 

“Listen, it’s me—it’s, uh, Tyler.” A voice drawled, caught somewhere between two accents. “Would you believe me if I said I need to borrow a cup of sugar?”

“Hardly,” she growled and Fitz echoed the sentiment. Another friend, another betrayal. Of course it all made sense. “Our kitchen’s a bit of a mess anyway, at the moment. Looks like a bomb went off.” 

“Ah, well, you gonna let me in anyways?” 

“Piss off,” Fitz seethed, the gun making a loud and distinct sound as he took the safety off.

“Oh, mate,” the voice on the other side of the door dropped the Texan accent for an English one. “Don’t make me take that gun off you, ‘cause it’s gonna hurt me more than it hurts you.” 

“That’s the idea.” 

“This isn’t what you think it is.” After a beat the man continued, "I mean it is what you think—but we’re here to help you. Coulson sent us.” 

What did this guy take them for?

“That’s exactly what you’d say.” 

“Seriously, go push your panic button and see what happens.” 

Fitz looked at Simmons and she gave him a brief nod of encouragement. He tipped his head, signally her to fetch the tablet while he guarded the door. 

In hindsight, he should have seen it for the ploy that it was, but if he’d learned anything over the last few months it was that he was more a scientist than a spy. As soon as Simmons was halfway to the kitchen, Tyler—or whatever his actual name was—busted through the front door with one swift kick at the lock. The man was prepared, dressed head to toe in black tactical gear. Still, Fitz managed to fire off one shot before Tyler shoved his hands into the air with deft skill and quickly wrenched it from his grip. 

Before Fitz could regain his equilibrium, Tyler knocked him out at his knees and pressed his arms behind his back, holding him out like a shield. 

Within seconds, Simmons rounded back into the room with the tablet, her ICER drawn and aimed at Tyler. 

“OK, love, before you pull the trigger and put me in a deep sleep—by the by, file this under friendly customer feedback, but those things give a massive hangover—go on and hit your panic button.”

She darted a look to Fitz but he could only manage a brief nod. He watched her as she typed in the passcode and pulled up the backdoor app that hid the emergency call button. As she pressed it his stomach dropped. They had no idea what would happen—or how soon. Seconds ticked by and the three of them waited. 

Then, suddenly, a television theme song rang out from Tyler’s vest pocket. Fitz twisted around to glare at him. “Is that… Is that from _The Golden Girls_ ?” 

Tyler only shrugged and fished it out of his pocket with a free hand, activating the video chat. Coulson’s face filled up the screen. 

“Hey, so, seems like you guys have had a bit of a wild night, huh?” 

“Sir?” Fitz was even more bewildered. 

“OK, that’s Hunter behind you there… Hunter, if you could not bruise my engineer, I’d appreciate it. Let him go.” With a scoff, Hunter relaxed his grip and helped Fitz to his feet. “And I’m assuming Bobbi is around there somewhere?”

“Yeah, out back,” Hunter gestured. “The bomb came in the kitchen window so she went around to eliminate the threat.” 

“What is going on?” Fitz shrieked just as Simmons shouted, “Sir, I believe we deserve an explanation.”

“Lance Hunter and Bobbi Morse—or, as you’ve known them, Katelin and Tyler Frayer—work for SHIELD. They’ve been keeping an eye out for any threats against your safety and it looks like they found a couple.” Coulson rocked forward on his feet, chagrined.

Without missing a beat, Bobbi shoved a tied-up Mike Raskin through the front door. But to Fitz’s surprise, she also had his mother tossed over her shoulder. The older woman looked far more animated than she had earlier that day, kicking and screaming. Bobbi dumped the woman on a nearby chair with an exasperated groan. 

“You can’t stop us, you know,” the woman cackled. “Cut off one head, another grows. Hail—”

Before she could complete her cry, Bobbi pressed a strip of tape to the woman’s mouth. 

“We know, we know. And honestly, no one cares. Shut up.”

“Bobbi, Hunter, a unit is on its way to clean up and to take the Raskins off your hands. Another team will be behind them to tear down and move.” Coulson continued to speak but Fitz was struggling to process the entire situation. 

Katelin and Tyler were actually SHIELD agents Bobbi Morse and Lance Hunter. The mild-mannered veterinarian and his frail mother were Hydra operatives. A bomb had exploded in his kitchen, a door and a window were both shattered, and Jemma Simmons had kissed him. His brain was whirling so fast he was certain steam was spilling out of his ears. Coulson cleared his throat and Fitz tried to focus.

“Right, well, I see you’ve got it all under control. FitzSimmons—Bobbi and Hunter will continue to protect you for the foreseeable future. This wasn’t just a one-time threat. If anything, this bungled attempt to capture you is just the tip of an iceberg. But we’re getting closer, we think.” He paused, and gave them a sad smile. “ _We hope_. I’ll be in touch when I can.” 

And with that, Coulson signed off.

“So,” Simmons spun around, eyes landing on Hunter. “You two didn’t actually have a row last night. You didn’t get the spins at three in the morning.”

“Ah, nope, princess. I didn’t.” He grinned and Fitz was almost certain Simmons wanted to deck him. “We heard intel that the Raskins were thinking of striking last night and we wanted to put ‘em off of the idea—by the way, there never was a raccoon; you owe your electrical problems to these two. Anyway, they didn’t quite take the hint. The big one’s a bit of an idiot and I had to bash his head on your porch.”

Bobbi nodded, adding, “He was trying to impress his mother. If they snagged two scientists— _the_ two scientists Hydra’s searching for… well. Cha-ching.”

“He can’t be too much of an idiot if he figured out we were in Wisconsin,” Simmons sniped, arms still crossed over her chest. 

“Yes, and we’re working on that leak to prevent any future issues.”

Bobbi’s phone buzzed, alerting them that the SHIELD unit was two minutes out. Fitz’s eyes darted between them, finally settling on Hunter. 

“All this time, I thought you were from Texas,” Fitz said as if the change in accent was the oddest reveal of the evening.

“By way of London, sure.”

“It’s the only American accent he can pull off. Well, when I say ‘pull off’...” Bobbi snickered and curled her fingers into quotation marks. Headlights flashed through the front window signaling the unit’s arrival and Bobbi pulled Mike to his feet.

“Oi, Bob, focus on the job, yeah? Take the mick out of your husband later.”

Simmons perked up, having grown uncharacteristically quiet after Coulson’s call. “You’re actually married?”

“Yes,” Hunter confirmed as Bobbi glared over her shoulder.

“Divorced.”

“It’s complicated. _Apparently_. Although it wasn’t all that complicated this last night  _or_ this morning,” he called after her before turning back to Fitz, adding with a shrug, “but you know women.” 

“Not really,” he mumbled, casting an eye over at Simmons and Hunter followed. She had moved away from them and was now directing a couple agents to the broken window and bomb remnants. 

“Oh, c’mon, mate. All those double dates with the four of us? That wasn’t acting—on either of your parts. You’re not that good of spies.” With a final wink at Fitz, Hunter dragged the old woman out of the chair and to the waiting van.

Fitz sighed heavily before turning to look back at Simmons. She was still supervising the cleanup crew as they mended the busted window and damaged floor tiles. Then, as if realizing he was staring at her, she glanced his way and gave him a soft smile. Seconds later, she was at his side. He couldn’t help feeling discombobulated—the life they’d shared for the last few weeks was now blown to bits and to top it all off, their relationship was shifting. Well, he thought it was shifting. Was it shifting? Had she simply kissed him due to heightened emotion? Did she regret it?

He chanced another glance at her and had to swallow a gasp. She was looking at him so warmly and standing so near that it made his heart swell. Without preamble, she leaned against him and tucked an arm around his waist. He hesitantly followed her lead and put his arm over her shoulders.

“I spoke with Agent Davis over there.” She tilted her head to the agent fixing the window. “He said they’re going to relocate us to another community.”

“Different state?”

“Hmm, but you’re not going to like it.”

“Oh?”

“H-I-O.” She snorted at her own little joke before adding, “Ohio. They’re moving us to Ohio.”

He threw his head back and groaned but she gave him a playful nudge.

“C’mon, Fitzy. They have corn there. Plus various festivals dedicated to various fruits and veg. And several amusement parks.” 

“What else?” He cracked one eye open to look at her.

“That’s about it, really.”

“ _Exactly_. Why can’t they stash us somewhere warmer? With a beach.”

“Yes, because you’re the beach type.” He didn’t have to look at her to know she was rolling her eyes.

“I could be!” He huffed. “I could learn surfing.”

Well, he didn’t see what was quite so funny about his statement, but it sent Simmons into an immediate giggle. He was relieved she was taking this all so well—the Hydra agents, their friends, the need to move _again_. He pulled her closer.

“I’m sorry about all of this, though.” When she tipped her face up to look at him with a puzzled expression, he continued, “That we can’t go home. That you have to stay hiding out in the Midwestern wilderness. With me.”

“Oh, well,” Simmons sighed softly. “I quite like being stuck out the Midwestern wilderness with you. In fact, I find that it’s being with you that makes this situation even remotely tolerable.”

Surprised but pleased, he glanced at her. She was looking back at him with such affection it nearly knocked him down. Suddenly, he couldn’t find the words to ask the questions churning in his brain.

“Fitz?” She tucked her head back against him, eyes now locked on the floor. “I have something I need to tell you. I’ve been trying to gather empirical data. You know how I don’t like to approach anything without running through several possible outcomes, but… well.”

She stopped and he could feel her trembling against him. Just as he was about to draw her closer, hoping the contact would calm her, she broke away from him and took a step back. He watched her as she seemed to be convincing herself to carry on. Her hands flitted to her neck but she dropped them back to her sides. She was nervous and a heavy sense of worry crackled through the room. 

“Jemma,” he started, her name falling from his lips. “You can say anything to me, you know that I would never—”

“I love you.” When he didn’t reply— _couldn’t_ reply, really—she wrung her hands together. “That is to say I’m _in_ love with you.”

That was far from what he expected her to say. Blood rushed through his head making his ears ring. The room felt so much larger and farther away. But then he was reaching for her wringing hands, breaking them apart. They were ice cold and he fought the urge to comment just for something to say while his brain and heart caught up. 

“When?” was the only thing he could manage, his voice hoarse with sudden emotion. “When did you know?”

She finally looked at him, her eyes shining with unshed tears. Something in his face must’ve given away his heart’s desire because she began to relax although fury of confusion still creased her brow. 

“The Chitauri virus.” He took a breath. Still, she continued to speak while he laced their hands together, tugging her near. “When you were helping me and I realized I didn’t want to leave you, but I would do whatever it took to keep you safe.”

When she stopped he looped her arms around his neck and dropped his forehead against hers. 

“I realized it at the same time. That I love you.” He pressed a kiss to her temple. “Well, I actually realized right around the time you jumped out of the plane. By the way, never do that again.” He punctuated his comment with another kiss, this time to her cheek. Warmth and pleasure bubbled up inside of him as she nuzzled into his caress. 

“You love me?” Her voice was soft.

“Hmm. Been doing my damnedest to hide it, but…” he shrugged. 

“Well, I’ve been doing _my_ damnedest to show you.” She leaned back, a playful gleam in her eye. “Why do you think there’s only one bed in this entire house?”

“What?” He gasped, eyes wide. “You mean… Coulson didn’t forget?”

“Fitz, who do you think drew up the rather detailed spreadsheet and room layout?” She rolled her eyes, teasingly. “Then of course you had to be a gentleman and order an air mattress. I thought you were so completely repulsed by the idea of me you needed to get as far away as possible.” 

“That was… you mean you…” He was definitely short-circuiting now. “You _schemed_ so we’d have to share a bed?” She shrugged one shoulder but Fitz could see a hint of a blush on her cheeks.

“When opportunity knocks…” 

“Jemma Simmons, you minx.” He feigned scandal and she crashed into him, giggling. 

“I’m assuming we’ll only need one bed at the next house.” 

“Oh, really?” He looked down at her, an eyebrow raised. Seeing her so playful despite their stressful day and the news of their continued protection left Fitz with such a strong sense of contentment he could barely contain it.

“Hmm. Unless of course, you’d prefer to keep sleeping on the fl—” 

“Oh, OK.” He leaned down and silenced her with a kiss.

“Ugh, it’s gonna be like that now, isn’t it?” Hunter shouted from the doorway and they broke apart, laughing. “Right, well, best gather up your things and get to the van in fifteen minutes. The Petries are moving in the dead of night before any of the neighbors work up the courage to ask questions.”

“What about the seven o’clock curfew?” Fitz called after him.

“Oh, I had a talk with the head of the community board on account of being married to her,” he dropped into his Texan accent once more. “She said she’ll overlook it just this once. Now, time’s tickin’ you love birds.”

“Also you should think up some new undercover names,” Bobbi added, ducking her head back into the house.

“We can’t be the Petries anymore?” Simmons pouted. 

“‘Fraid not. The Petries must disappear.” Hunter made a dramatic sweep of his hands and Fitz was beginning to realize that, accent aside, Tyler Frayer wasn’t much of a stretch from his real personality. “Bob and I need new names, too, and I already came up with ‘em: Danny and Foxy Sculder. Because of _The X-Files_ , obviously.”

Standing by his side with her arms crossed, Bobbi laughed and glared. “Absolutely not. I pick the names this time.”

“You picked the names last time, too,” he groaned.

“Yeah, because you come up with terrible names, _obviously_.”

“Fine, what are they?”

“James and Ella York.” 

“What show are those from?” He scrunched his face, confused.

“None,” Bobbi answered, empathically before turning on her heel and heading back outside.

“Unbelievable,” he shouted, following close behind.

Fitz grinned as Simmons gave a small laugh at their new friends’ antics. 

“Any ideas on our new names?” She asked, cheek pressed against his chest.

“Ah, well, I was thinking we have a nice theme going on… I’m sure we’ll come up with something.”

Then she snuggled closer to him, wrapping both arms back around his waist. He couldn’t help but do the same and so there they stood, arms around each other as the team of agents continued to patch and pack up their house.

* * *

Domestic life for Darrin and Samantha Stevens carried on. Their home in Ohio was tucked in a housing community similar to the community in Wisconsin, but seemed less like a _Doctor Who_ episode. The neighbors were friendly but no one swarmed to help unload their moving van. One family dropped off a plate of cookies and another a bottle of wine, but for the most part everyone kept to themselves. Everyone except the house right next to door where James and Ella York lived, but that was fine with the Stevens.

It was Tuesday morning and the Stevens, having lived in their new home for approximately two weeks, had settled into quite the routine. However, this morning, was a bit of an anomaly. Samantha Stevens—or, rather, Jemma Simmons—was sound asleep as the second snooze of her alarm went off.

“Jemma,” Fitz cajoled her, his eyes still pressed shut as he trailed his fingers down her bare shoulder “C’mon, you gotta get up. Although, I’m perfectly content to stay like this all day, I know you, and you’ll be angry that you missed a day of work.”

“What are you going on about?” She mumbled before pressing a kiss to his chest. 

“I’m just saying, while I’m happy to stay like this all day—naked, satiated— _I_ have nowhere to be. You, however, have a lab to run and a boss who abhors tardiness.”

“I’m the boss,” she muttered, eyes still shut. Being allowed to hold her like this, warm and sleepy, filled him with such happiness that he was almost sorry to keep nudging her, but he knew once she was more awake, she’d want to get to work. She’d talked about the tests she and Bobbi—who also worked at the lab as a means to keep an eye on Simmons and to relieve Fitz’s worry—were running. He hadn’t really been listening, he’d been too distracted by her renewed exuberance of working in one of the top labs in the country. 

“Yes, you’re the boss, but you know Bobbi prefers to carpool and what about those test… samples… for the thing?” He trailed off, his voice going up an octave.

“You weren’t paying attention last night were you?”

“How could I when you were so distractingly adorable, telling me all about the data read-outs and the updated reports.” He tipped his head down to kiss her. “You know how I get when you talk science.”

And then he pulled her into a more heated kiss, slanting his mouth along hers. She gave as good as she got, nipping at his bottom lip, making him moan. Before he could wrap his arms around her she sat up, kissed his nose, and flung the bedcovers back. 

“Well, I better get ready. Don’t want to be late.” 

He dropped his head to the pillow and groaned.

“Tease,” he called after her as slipped into their master bathroom, her laughter echoing off the walls. 

“Oh, Fitzy,” she stuck her head back into the bedroom and he perked up, wondering if her sweet tone preluded an offer to join her in the shower. “Be a good house-husband, would you, and make me toast and tea?”

“Yes, dear.” He bit back a grin and tossed a cushion towards the door. She darted back behind the door, once again laughing.

 

Forty minutes later, Fitz bundled Simmons into the passenger side of Bobbi’s car with a travel mug of tea and a kiss.

“Behave,” she whispered, leaning up through the window for another. 

“Same goes for you.” He gave her a wink and then with that, Bobbi pulled out of the drive and up the road.

“Ugh, you two,” Hunter groused from the garden next door. He was out watering the flowerbeds with a hose, looking quite the domestic. “Neighborly tip: your bedroom is right across the way from ours.” 

“And?” he glared.

“Pull the blinds, mate.” 

“You pull yours,” Fitz grumbled back, still watching the car drive out of sight while his friend only laughed.

“Up for our usual mid-morning tea?” Hunter asked as he watered the rose bushes dividing their property. Pretending to give the suggestion thought, Fitz paused before snapping his fingers and nodding.

“I’ll fire up the X-BOX.” He headed back to the house.

“I’ll bring the biscuits.”

 


End file.
